Sunday, September 8, 2013

A Suburban Peculiarity For a Teen

There always seems to be some amount of angst out there that the passionate pursuit of artistic interests will somehow damage one's kids. In reading up on The Suburban, the legendary independent artspace run by artists Michelle Grabner and Brad Killam in their suburban back yard, I came across this lovely short essay written by their oldest son, Peter, about growing up surrounded by art and artists. It seemed an appropriate thing to share here:

One of the first things my Advanced Placement European History
teacher, who I have grown to thoroughly respect, said to us, came in a
class discussion about about the children of historical figures. "I
want each of you to go home and thank your parents for not being
artists," she said. "The children of artists are the ones who lose
their minds, fall into madness or commit suicide, and I wouldn't want
any of you to turn out that way."

Her commentary was obviously striking: I am not only the child of
two artists, but I am constantly surrounded by art and its supplementary
activities (its viewing, selling, and making). The nucleus of this
part of my life lies in the tiny yellow building formerly attached to my
garage. My parents call it The Suburban.

The Suburban is a social peculiarity that I have not yet learned to
cope with. Since its conception in my preteens, The Suburban has
created a varying array of effects on my life, the majority being
positive. I have dissected my entire record collection with a British
artist named Simon, I have shared fruity non-alcoholic drinks with my
friend Sam at a fully functional tiki-bar-cum-art-installation, and
developed to some degree, an understanding of what constitutes
contemporary art.

However, life within intimate proximity to an art gallery is not
entirely beneficial for a self-conscious teenager and his ten-year old
brother. While awkwardness does arise when sharing a house with
half-a-dozen large, unshaven Scandinavians, the major difficulty of
living with The Suburban is explaining the idea and function of it to
the more traditionally "suburban" mothers of my friends.
"Were your parents throwing a party at your house on Saturday?"
Yes, it was an art opening."
At this point I try to convince her that The Suburban is a serious
pursuit of my parents, and that is has a "real" significance in the
art-world. What this significance is I do not know.
Among my peers, The Suburban has brought me neither recognizable
fame, (I can't imagine "My garage is also an art gallery" would serve as
a successful pick-up line) nor overwhelming scorn. My general rule is
to discuss the gallery and its work only with close friends or those who
question what "The Suburban" means on our household's telephone
answering machine prompt. My reasoning for this is simple; debates
about the artistic merit of a fictional Swedish Citizen Recruitment
Center are not something I enjoy taking part in, let alone fully
understanding.

Because of The Suburban and my parents' choice of career and life
style, I have seen and learned to appreciate art on levels unknown to my
peers. From Marfa, Texas, to Budapest, I have traveled the world to
see it. I have eaten bratwurst in my yard with those who make it. I
have traded my bedroom away for weeks to Englishmen for duty-free tubes
of Toblerone chocolate. For this uncommon exposure, it should have been
the request of my history teacher to come home and thank my parents for
becoming artists.

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Cultural ReProducers are an evolving group of active cultural workers who are also parents. This site is for anyone interested in making the art world a more inclusive and interesting place by supporting arts professionals raising kids.